Electronic · IDM · Glitch
Three works from the DNA Productions catalogue — constructed at the intersection of electronic programming, emotional texture, and machine logic. Click any cover to stream.
Cohen's most experimental record operates on tension — between stillness and rupture, organic warmth and synthetic precision. Heavily processed guitars dissolve into ambient pools before glitch rhythms fracture the surface. The programming is meticulous: every broken beat intentional, every silence loaded.
Melodically richer than most IDM, the record carries genuine emotional weight — post-rock songwriting logic applied to electronic architecture. Grief, transition, quiet dread, suspended time.
/// "Everything that evolves dies, but it dies in order for something else to emerge into life."
/// "At what point do we stop making technology work for us, and cross over to where we work for it?"
/// "When your head is filled with enough to drown the earth, you will break your silence."
FKS operates where electronics become philosophy. Precision-engineered — IDM frameworks holding glitch textures in tension with cinematic space. Tracks move with the logic of circuits: structured, purposeful, then deliberately broken.
Colder and more architectural than Grief, this record leans into machine unease. The silence between sounds carries as much weight as the signal. A current of genuine dread runs beneath the surface: the cost of progress, the void behind the screen, the question of who — or what — is really doing the designing.
In 1995, a failing soundcard rewired how Toronto Lo-Fi worked. Rather than fix the fault, Lionel Cohen played through it — letting the machine's own breakdown set the rhythm. What survived on tape reads now like a document of failure treated as instrument, years before glitch had a name and before IDM had shelf space of its own.
Twenty tracks came out of that dying hardware, titled only by number: Experiment 01 through Experiment 20. In 2015, a contiguous run — Experiments 07 through 13 — was pulled back out and reissued as Music for Computers, the same floppy disk on the cover now standing in for the format the tracks were almost lost to.
/// "The glitch was never a mistake. It was the only take we had."
/// "A broken machine still keeps time — just not yours."